Page 5 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

“I willnae bleed hungry me people because of the poor weather,” he said. Gordon turned before the old man could see too much on his face. “See the work begins before noon tomorrow.”

“Aye, Me Laird,” Tam said, and this time his voice shook for a different reason.

Gordon rode back toward the keep with the wind at his face and mud on his boots. The lands rose before him in rugged beauty, hills rough with heather, burnt waters flashing silver, the old road climbing toward the stone walls that had once belonged to his uncle.

It was his now.

Me burden. Or perhaps me penance.

Gordon arrived at the castle in a short time and handed the reins of his bridle to the first stable boy who approached him.

His man-at-arms strode out of the keep a moment later, his strides just as purposeful as the look on his face.

“Yer brother is here to see ye,” he said.

“I shall meet him in me study,” Gordon answered, his mind already set with the discussion he knew he was about to have with Rowan.

“Ye crossed a line when ye decided to choose a wife for me,” Gordon said to his brother as he marched into his study some minutes later and slammed the door closed behind him.

Rowan turned from the maps laid out on Gordon’s table, his face drawn in a tight expression that gave nothing away.

Gordon crossed the room, his wet boots leaving faint marks on the floor. “How could ye negotiate me a wife? Without me knowledge? And worse, the same woman who fled ye two years ago.”

Rowan watched him in silence as he crossed the distance between them and stopped.

“I did what I thought best for ye,” Rowan answered, looking Gordon in the eye. “We have had our differences, dearest brother, and I ken ye trust me a little more now than before, but it is time that ye trusted another too and thought of the future.”

The word future made Gordon scoff and turn away. “I daenae wish for a wife,” he continued as he strode away and reached for wine on the top shelf to the left of his study. “And how am I to face Sorcha after this?”

“Ye can face her,” Rowan said with a little humor on his lips. “It is her sister ye are to wed after all.”

“A lass who ran from ye,” Gordon pointed out again as he recalled her face. Two years ago, he had found her to bring her home, and if he was honest, he had not forgotten the terrified look on her face when he found her or when she walked into his study and found him in his undergarments.

He could not entirely forget it. Her pale face, the gasp that parted her lips as her gaze trailed down his chest, and worse, his own body responding fiercely with a rush of heat that pounded past every rational thought and made him harden in a traitorous way. He had known to avoid her ever since, not wanting to ever feel that sizzle below his stomach again.

Gordon cursed under his breath and poured himself a drink. He poured too much but drank half of it in one swallow. Fire slid down his throat and joined the sensation in his chest. He welcomed the burn.

“Aye,” he said. “I returned her. But it doesnae mean I wish to wed her.”

Rowan rose at last. “Her brother Callan agreed. The alliance between our clans needs strengthenin’. They need assurance, and ye need⁠—”

“Daenae tell me what I need,” Gordon interrupted, shaking his head as a bitter laugh left his lips.

Gordon turned toward the window overlooking the darkening lands. The glass reflected the room faintly: the fire behind him, Rowan’s broad figure, his own grim face. He looked, he thought, exactly like what the villagers feared.

A monster in a laird’s plaid.

“I have only just reclaimed these lands,” he said quietly. “Only just begun provin’ to these people that I am nae our uncle. Men still lower their voices when I pass… They fear me still. Women pull their bairns close. Even the village head, me own leader, Tam, shook as if I had come to strip the field from beneath his feet.”

Rowan said nothing. Gordon rested his hand against the window frame. The wood was cold beneath his palm.

“They daenae trust me yet,” he said. “I have barely begun rebuildin’ what was broken. They need to believe again. To believe they have a future.”

Rowan stepped nearer, his voice soft. “A marriage would help that.”

Gordon’s mouth tightened because he did not believe Rowan’s reasoning, but Rowan continued anyway.

“A wife in the keep,” Rowan continued. “A household settled. A lady to stand beside ye. Folk takes comfort from such things.”